


Vanished, Dimmed, and Faded

by Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18490930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody/pseuds/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody
Summary: Space and time are tricky areas—even for a trickster.





	Vanished, Dimmed, and Faded

**Author's Note:**

> I just liked the idea of the MoM's disappearance being less of a cool, isolated moment and more of an embarrassing chronic condition. Don't take it too seriously.

It happened almost exactly as he foretold. He had a knack for that. Born with it, he figured.

For what it was worth, it did feel like a “dimming.” It had taken a full day to set in—though at first, he thought it was just mild indigestion, and he told himself he _had_ to remember to take Ava’s name off the chore wheel when it came to meal prep.

But when he finally realized what was happening—that _it_ was happening—he was flooded with emotions, raw and conflicting and totally instinctive. Excitement. Anticipation. Regret. The thrill of knowing he could still be caught off-guard. Curiosity about whether he would be missed. The sensation of something _new_.

And as if the universe had been waiting precisely for him to catch on, he disappeared. And no one was even around to see it. He wasn’t sure what would have been better: the mystique of vanishing without a trace, or the pandemonium that would have ensued if he’d ceased to exist before an audience of loyal followers. He’d waffled between those two possibilities for months, unable to decide how his imminent disappearance should happen.

But happen it did, and like a spore set adrift on the wind, the Master of Masters was gone.

* * *

When he reappeared in the corporeal realm, he’d been intrigued to find himself on a path, wondering where this new phase of his existence would take him. And he had been nothing short of flummoxed when that path turned out to be a common road that led him straight back to Daybreak Town.

He stared up at the clock tower. He turned one hundred eighty degrees and looked down the path he’d just walked. He completed his rotation and stared at the clock tower again. He glanced over his shoulder one more time. And when he was certain that he was back at home-sweet-home, he stepped inside.

Gula and Ava greeted him casually. Invi was a little more reserved, but also preoccupied, trying to remember where she’d left the three (or was it four?) books she’d been working on. No one seemed affected by their Master’s day-long absence. Overall, they seemed more put off by how hesitantly he was walking through the familiar halls of the clock tower. Aced stopped him to ask if he was feeling all right, and the Master’s response—a distracted, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good”—was so unprecedentedly _normal_ that it only made his pupil more concerned.

But soon it was business as usual, and when the Master accepted that he truly was back—and that his students truly were going about their daily affairs without missing a beat—his lingering caution made way for indignation. Sure, he’d spent the past few years conditioning them to accept his erratic behavior without question. And in all fairness, this was far from the first time he’d left them without warning or explanation, to do who knew what for who knew how long.

But he had _just_ gone to the trouble of telling them that he might be disappearing, and _soon_. He’d given them all specific and highly important tasks. He couldn’t have made the gravity of the situation any clearer, aside from foregoing the cheesy monologues, the playful insults, and the flailing gestures that even he himself didn’t understand half the time.

He shifted his jaw. Maybe his darling students weren’t _completely_ at fault for not taking this seriously enough. Ah, well. Live and learn.

Or not. If they simply lived, he’d be happy, not to mention delightfully surprised.

By the time he made it back to his room, he decided that this was a freebie. It was perfect, actually. Now that he’d given this whole disappearing thing a whirl, he knew what to expect. And the next time he vanished, dimmed, or faded, he could ensure that it would have some _oomph_.

* * *

Reliable Ira. Punctual Ira. They could set their watches by him, if the old gears of the clock tower ever ceased to turn.

The Master could feel it setting in again. He was already getting good at predicting it. And this time, he wanted to make a lasting impression, just in case this really was it. So he arranged a get-together with Ira when he felt The Dimmening start to take hold.

All Ira knew was that he was to meet the Master on the hill for another chat, which was, in his humble opinion, excessive. While the hilltop offered a lovely view, Ira had never needed this kind of ceremony. A visit to the Master’s chambers during a free moment would have suited him just fine. He favored substance over style.

But the Master favored both, so Ira, dutiful to a fault, indulged him.

The Master didn’t have any real news to share, mostly reiterating the same spiel about the Book of Prophecies and the upcoming war. Nevertheless, Ira felt like he was being tested. The more he studied the Book, the less he understood, but the firmer his resolve became—not to prevent the war from unfolding, but to give it the most favorable outcome possible.

He said as much, standing there on the hill, looking down at the sloped roofs and cobbled streets of Daybreak Town. The horn and mane of his mask were downright regal in the cool morning light. He turned his face toward the eternal dawn, speaking as much to the sleeping population below as to his Master, who stood behind him with unusual patience. Ira vowed that he would assume his role and uphold his responsibility, not only to himself and his comrades, but to their followers and all those they’d sworn to protect.

He wasn’t as eloquent as the Master, lacking the man’s innate flair. But he got to the heart of the matter, saying what needed to be said both thoroughly and without being long-winded. Ira always thought that was one of his more practical traits, if not a particularly exciting one.

It occurred to him that there was a lot of silence at his back. Silence and stillness. Neither suited the Master’s typical M.O. Ira turned around, wondering what kind of over-the-top scrutinizing pose the Master was regarding him with. Instead, he saw the wide, grassy path that had led them to the top of the hill, and nothing more.

The most unsettling part wasn’t that the Master had disappeared a few mere strides from where Ira stood, but that Ira had managed to miss the moment entirely. He glanced around, knowing he looked foolish but operating on pure instinct. Despite the Master’s efforts to prepare for his departure, experiencing it himself was an event that Ira couldn’t have ever fully prepared for.

But soon—sooner than he would have expected—Ira felt a sense of clarity and peace. It was almost a relief. However uncertain the future was (or rather, how distressingly certain), the thing they’d all been anticipating had finally happened. They were entering unfamiliar territory now, and they would have to do it without the Master’s guidance, but Ira knew he was ready to take up the mantle of leadership that had been left behind. He spent a few more minutes up there on the hilltop, surveying Daybreak Town and accepting that his Master was really, truly _gone_.

Still, Ira checked behind the trees and rocks on his way back down the path. You just never knew for sure with him.

* * *

When Ira returned to the clock tower, he assembled his fellow Foretellers and made the announcement. He felt almost guilty, not just for being the bearer of bad news, but also for having been the only one present for their Master’s untimely (or perhaps perfectly timely) passing. He tried to shake that guilt, knowing that it was irrational and didn’t exactly bode well for his leadership abilities.

Understandably, he was met with skepticism when he shared the news. Ira didn’t take it personally—it was a natural response, coming from a place of incredulity rather than suspicion. The others might not have always agreed with his judgment or seen eye-to-eye, but they knew better than to think he was a liar.

Or they used to. It was hard to trust Ira’s story about the Master’s disappearance when the Master arrived in the middle of it, shoving both doors open like the drama hound he was and announcing himself with a flippant, “Well, _well_. A team meeting? And I wasn’t _invited_? I’ll be honest: a little rude there, Ira. Good to see you’re embracing the leadership position, though. Keep it up.”

He gave Ira two double-barreled finger guns and made his way to the kitchen while everyone else, half-hidden by lifeless animal masks, gaped as if they’d seen a ghost. None of them were convinced they hadn’t.

Gula was the first to react. When the Master left the room, he turned on Ira, pointed at the kitchen, and said, “Okay, _what_?”

“Listen, I _swear_ he—”

“You said he was gone!” Aced blurted out.

“He _was_ ,” Ira insisted, more exasperated than defensive. He held his hands up as if he were about to explain, and then he dropped them, at a loss.

Carefully, as if she were afraid of undoing this dubious miracle, Invi said, “So…what does this _mean_?”

“It means I’m _starving_ ,” the Master called from the kitchen. “What’s for dinner? Aced’s turn to cook, isn’t it? Unless I’ve been away longer than I thought. In any case, I’m feeling like dumplings tonight. I’ll get started—Aced, feel free to join in whenever you’re ready.”

They heard footsteps and cheerful whistling as he opened the cupboards and started to gather ingredients. Despite his return, the other four looked to Ira for direction. The most he could offer them was a weak shrug.

“I guess it means…he’s back?”

* * *

It was hard at first, wrapping their minds around the fact that the Master’s disappearance had resulted in him coming right back. But they supposed he never said it would be a permanent disappearance. He’d left it almost intentionally vague, which was something they all felt they should have been used to by now.

So, as the Foretellers were often left to do under their Master’s tutelage, they decided to roll with it.

His next disappearance was jarring, and it lent itself some credibility by leaving an eyewitness behind. The Master was engaged in a casual and pleasant—albeit mildly teasing—conversation with Aced over breakfast one moment, and _gone_ the next, leaving nothing to remember him by but a shattered mug of coffee and an untouched croissant, which Ava and Gula briefly quarreled over before deciding to go halfsies.

It wasn’t that anyone still doubted Ira’s account of the disappearance on the hilltop, but it was reassuring to know that someone had actually seen it occur, even if it had left Aced sounding on the verge of a heart attack. But Aced was even less capable of falsehoods than Ira. All signs pointed to the Master having truly disappeared, and this time, it felt like he was gone for good.

The Master had thought so, too. It just _felt_ final. He was whisked away from Aced mid-sentence, doubtlessly leaving the poor man to clean up the ceramic mug and steaming splash of coffee that hit the floor when the Master made his involuntary but nevertheless _awesome_ exit.

Straight to the marshes on the outskirts of town, as it turned out. The morning fog, which was so delicate and ethereal when viewed from a distance, was incredibly rank and clammy up close, especially for someone who was teleported there as unceremoniously as the victim of a carnival dunk-tank.

And _especially_ when that person was dressed head to toe in leather.

It was a small blessing, at least, that no one was around to watch him drag himself out of the swamp and go slinking back home like a drenched cat. He may have acted shameless around his subordinates, but he still had _some_ measure of pride. He gritted his teeth through every squelching step of the four-mile trek home, and his feet were thoroughly brined by the time he arrived. He crept through the door much less theatrically than last time, not that it kept Invi and Ava from pausing to glance at him, and then to stare at him, with a particularly scathing double-take from Invi.

All three were motionless: the Master dripping on the threshold, and Ava and Invi frozen mid-step—Ava literally with one foot hovering above the floor.

He felt like he should have a quip for this. He’d had so much time to think of one on his walk, and failing that, he was an improvisation king. But all he could come up with, and all he truly wanted to know at the moment, was: “Any hot water left?”

Invi kept staring. Ava managed a tiny nod, and the Master noticed with equal parts fondness and annoyance that her lips were pressed together as if she were holding back a laugh. He couldn’t blame her, he supposed. He dismissed himself from their company and went upstairs, giving himself a mental pat on the back for having the foresight to send Luxu away. The kid never would’ve let him live this down.

* * *

Three minutes into his shower, the Master disappeared again, though it took forty-five minutes for anyone to notice. Gula passed by the Master’s room and frowned when he realized the water had been running for almost an hour. He stopped Ava when she came down the hall, and one by one, the Foretellers gathered outside the door.

“Someone should check on him,” Gula said. “He shouldn’t be taking more than, what, half an hour max?”

“I think we should give him an hour _minimum_ ,” Invi said. “Trust us, Gula. He looked _and smelled_ like he’d been dropped in the ocean at low tide.”

“And then a swamp,” Ava piped up.

“And then a mud puddle,” Invi added.

“And then another swamp.”

Gula chuckled, and it fell to Aced to be the voice of reason. He pointed out that the Master had been disappearing a lot lately, and no one knew the strain it might be putting on his body. It was well within the realm of possibility for him to have passed out.

Everyone mulled this over until Ira finally “volunteered” to go find out if their charismatic leader had, in fact, fainted in the shower. He kept his grumbling to himself. He knew the drill by now: if their Master was the MoM, then he was Team Dad.

He stepped into the Master’s room with a polite knock while the other four waited in the hallway. Even amidst these mysterious and increasingly frequent disappearances, and even with a prophetic war on the horizon, their most pressing concern at the moment was whether or not their Master had slipped and fallen in his own bathroom.

The prophecy certainly hadn’t mentioned anything about _that_.

The water stopped, and Ira returned moments later with his mouth in a hard line. The expression suited his face well, and it wasn’t difficult to guess what it meant.

“How long do you think he’ll be gone _this_ time?” Gula asked, only half-sarcastic. Ira reached beneath the long crest of his mask to rub his eyes.

“I don’t know. I’ll wait up for him.”

They all agreed that was probably the best course of action, and most of them had the consideration to thank Ira, acknowledging the burdens he was already shouldering for them in the name of leadership. The ascent from middle management to upper management was not a glamorous one.

He sat outside the tower’s entrance with a freshly laundered cloak on his lap and a spare set of boots on the ground. It was less than an hour before he heard the quiet slap of damp footsteps behind him, and he held the cloak out without a word and without turning around. The Master accepted it and snatched up the boots as well, his gratitude unspoken but obvious in how hastily he dressed.

Ira still didn’t turn around, even when he heard the zipper being done up. The Master took a few steps toward the door, then stopped. “What, standing guard now? Or am I not the only nudist you were expecting today?”

Ira sighed very quietly, trying not to sound as troubled as he felt. “You _are_ disappearing, right? You didn’t just…jump out the window and shimmy down the drainpipe to mess with us?”

“ _Ira_ ,” the Master began, and Ira could imagine the pantomime of shock and betrayal he was performing, leaning back with a hand splayed over his heart. “Would I _ever_?”

Ira didn’t want to answer that, and the Master didn’t seem to expect him to. As usual, he was perfectly willing to carry on the conversation by himself. “Believe it or not, there are limits to how far I’ll go for the sake of a prank. And even if that kind of nonsense were up my alley, don’t tell me you wouldn’t do your due diligence. Checking the windowsill for water, the ground for footprints, all that anal-retentive detective work you love so much.”

Ira rose to his feet and dusted his robes. He _had_ checked, of course, but he wasn’t about to admit it. It was starting to unsettle him, how easily he was getting into the Master’s mindset—or what he assumed his mindset to be. “I just want to make sure I understand the situation—to the best of my abilities,” he added, doubting that he truly understood anything anymore. “Regardless, we’re glad to have you back.”

“Yeah, well, tell your face. Don’t tell me you _want_ me gone for good. Can’t wait to be bossman around here, huh?”

“I can wait as long as I have to. I can also jump in as soon as I’m needed. It’s just this…in-between state that’s difficult to work with.”

“Hey, this isn’t exactly a picnic for me, either, if it makes you feel any better. I’m going on some interesting little day trips, but man, at what cost?”

Ira had been asking himself that same question, ever since Aced brought up the toll these disappearances could be taking on the Master. Was he suffering? Was this constant back-and-forth gradually wearing him down? Were his gestures a little less sweeping and confident these days, and a little more choppy and half-finished, as if each journey through space and time left him struggling to put the pieces of himself back together?

Ira tried not to dwell on it. Speculation would only lead to obsession. It was happening, and they all had to work with it, and that was that.

So he followed the Master inside and wasn’t the least bit surprised when he said, “Oh, hey, since you’re up, you mind spotting me while I take a _real_ shower? Long overdue for one, but your guess is as good as mine how far I’ll get, at this rate.”

“I can’t exactly stop it if it starts to happen again,” Ira said as the Master stood aside and gallantly ushered him up the stairs.

“Nor would I ask you to, even if you could,” the Master replied. “This vanishing act is really working on its own timetable here. But still, we have our responsibilities, Ira. Our community may be on the verge of an all-out war, and I may be disappearing without a trace, but that’s no excuse to waste water.”

* * *

It had been nearly two weeks since the first disappearance. The Foretellers were no closer to understanding the pattern of it, and frankly, most of them had stopped trying. The world was rewriting itself according to the Master’s whims, and it was a bit of a learning curve for both parties. It seemed he wouldn’t be leaving for good until the universe was ready to understand exactly what that meant and how it make it happen.

It started to get a little scary if they thought about it for too long, so it became a running gag instead. Soon, almost everyone had a chance to witness it firsthand. When Gula saw it for the first time, the Master became see-through, like a reflection in a windowpane, and vanished altogether when the light hit him. In Invi’s case, the Master went grainy, as if particles of himself were separating into sand. And in a conversation with Ava, the Master simply popped out of existence like a bubble.

Ira still hadn’t seen it himself. He didn’t feel like he was missing out.

* * *

Invi walked down the hall with a book tucked in her sash. She didn’t have many opportunities to read for pleasure these days, being up to her scarf in prophecies and historical texts (which she did, admittedly, find quite pleasurable to read). She was just about to climb the stairs to the roof when she heard a frantic call from a nearby room.

“Invi! Invi-Invi-Invi! _Invidia_!”

She bit back a sigh—would it have killed him to give her more than two seconds to answer before resorting to her full name? She entered the room and approached the Master, who stood at the window with one of its long curtains held in his hands. “Yes?”

“I _hate_ these drapes.”

“…oh?”

“They clash with the rest of the decor, both in color and style. And this pattern? _What_ were you thinking when you picked these out?”

Invi was too confused to be offended. Everything in the room—in the entire building, for that matter—looked the same as it did since she first arrived. “I didn’t,” she said, knowing that blunt honesty was better than trying to figure out where on earth he was going with this.

The Master dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “I know,” he said conspiratorially. “Just play along, all right?”

“Why?”

“Invi, all will become clear. Just say, ‘Well, if you don’t like them, you can just leave.’”

“I don’t sound like—”

“ _Invi_.”

She took a deep breath, drawing on a reserve of patience well beyond her years. “If you don’t like them, you can just leave.”

Undeterred by her flat delivery, the Master responded with a defiant, “Fine, I _will_!”

They stood there for a few moments. Invi tapped one foot against the other and glanced around the room. The Master held a fistful of fabric in each hand, his pose confident but his general air becoming more and more uncertain, even embarrassed. Finally, Invi took pity on him. “Well?”

He exhaled with such ferocity that Invi realized he’d been holding his breath. He dropped his hands, and his shoulders followed suit. “Really thought I felt it brewing this time,” he said, patting his midsection. He glanced at Invi, and though she couldn’t see his face, he seemed apologetic—though that was probably less for inconveniencing her and more for failing to deliver on the joke. “Well, my bad. Thanks for being a good sport anyw—”

The curtain slipped out of his suddenly non-existent grasp, its hem dragging on the floor with a dry hiss like snakeskin. Invi finally allowed herself to sigh, straightened out the fabric, and then went to get some reading done, now that the tower was free of distractions.

* * *

“So, the Heartless are massing on the bridge, the Lux is piled on the roof, and the Keyblade is still stuck in the fence. At this point, Chirithy finally gets out of the fountain and—”

The Master cut himself off, holding both hands out and studying them intently. Invi, Aced, and Gula watched in confusion until they realized they could see straight through his fingers.

“No, no, _no_ ,” he muttered, “not _now_! Okay, real quick, I’ll just skip to the punchline. _Ugh_ , this is gonna ruin _all_ the nuance. So she says, ‘That’s not a Dream Eater, it’s—‘“

His disappearances were so commonplace at this point that they left even Aced looking bored. Gula rolled his eyes. “We’ll count that one as a mercy killing for his alleged joke.”

Invi snorted. “I’ll give him this much—his comedic timing has certainly improved.”

* * *

By the third week, the Master of Masters was so good at predicting his own disappearance that he started posing when he felt it setting in. At first, he struck a hands-on-hips stance, looking upward, trying to leave his team with an inspirational visual to remember him by. Something they could paint a life-sized portrait of and hang in the main hall above the fireplace, if they were so inclined. He certainly wouldn’t have objected.

When he realized his tactics weren’t having their intended effect on morale, he started adopting the silliest, most improbable poses he could. They got an occasional laugh out of Ava, at least.

But mostly, everyone was tired of what had become their new routine. When the Master blinked out of existence for the third time in as many days, the other five parted ways for the rest of the afternoon and evening. They were too drained to even sit in the same room together, and although none of them would say it out loud, they’d come to cherish the peace and quiet that followed the Master’s absence.

He returned the following day during lunch with a box in his arms, which was enough of a new development to spark interest. When Ava asked what was in it, the Master replied, “Superballs.”

Nobody knew what that meant, and nobody wanted to ask. He rustled through the package and took one out to demonstrate, bouncing it on the wooden floor. It flew back up with such unexpected speed that a few of his followers jumped in their seats. He chuckled and bounced it over to the group; Ira ducked, and Aced made an automatic grab for it, but Ava was quicker. She stood on the couch to snatch the ball out of the air, studying it curiously. She sat down again and bounced it on the floor a few times before sending it Gula’s way when he raised his hand.

“What is the purpose of these…items?” Ira asked, and the Master sighed.

“No purpose. Not everything has some slot in the grand design, Ira. Found these at the last place I was deposited in, and I thought, well, you guys have been so good to put up with all this disappearing nonsense. You deserved a treat.”

He showed off the other items in the box. They were mostly toys and trinkets, but they were nice. Pinwheels, kazoos, and some goofy Halloween masks in case they felt like switching things up, which made the group laugh for what felt like the first time in ages. They appreciated the attempt at levity, if nothing else, and the Master carried the goodies to the common area, leaving a remarkably cheerful mood behind.

It wasn’t long—just until the Master was out of earshot—before Aced said, “You know…he really is going to disappear one of these days.”

“Wow, where’ve _you_ been for the past few weeks? Hibernating?”

“No,” Aced said to Gula. “I mean…he’s going to leave. And he isn’t going to come back.”

Gula, who had been bouncing the ball, now caught it and paused. It had been so easy to treat these disappearances as the latest in a long line of eccentric behavior, but now, they had to accept that it was more like a series of test runs to prepare them for that fated day, when their Master would finally leave them for good.

They shared a moment of solemn silence for the man who had yet to truly leave their ranks.

A moment that was broken by a pop, a clatter on the steps, and the telltale sound of a hundred superballs avalanching down the staircase and into the main hall.

It was chaos distilled in an onslaught of zany, superfluous toys—as fitting a departure as their Master ever had.

They listened to the drumroll of rubber balls and felt nothing but deep, weary resignation. Ira was the first to rise, and the others reluctantly followed his lead. They reached the disaster zone and fanned out to corral the mess. Ira and Aced collected the toys within easy reach, while the younger and more spry members of the group chased down the errant ones.

They worked without speaking for a while, but when all of them happened to converge on the box at the same time, a pile of superballs cupped in their hands like an offering of alms, Ira paused. He remained stooped by the box and rested his elbow on his knee. “You know,” he began, suddenly trying very hard not to laugh, “for a bunch of Foretellers…we probably should have seen that coming.”


End file.
